To Wed A Highlander (16 page)

“Excellent. I will have Dunlop send us a handful of men to help us move Colin’s chambers and the items from the basement. This should provide plenty of room for the men. Now for the women who need accommodations…”

“Most of them prefer to stay in the Pinnacle.”

The Pinnacle.
Makenna hated that tower. Situated at an odd angle on a small hill, it distorted the square look of the inner yard and appeared to be taller than the other towers. Consequently Makenna’s great-grandmother called it the Pinnacle, and the name stuck. Makenna preferred her name—the Rooms of Doom and Gloom. For that was what they contained. The whole tower was filled with chambers designated for spinning, weaving, tapestry, embroidery, candle making, cobblers, even the laundry was done near, in, or about the Pinnacle. All things she didn’t understand and hated. Why anyone would
want
to stay there was a mystery.

“Then that is where they shall stay. I am assuming there is room. Am I correct?”

“Aye, milady. There is.”

Makenna stood and began to pace. “Now for moderation. We’ll start with the chambermaids and the—”

Hesitantly holding her hand up, Doreen interrupted, “Uh, besides me, there are none, milady. The one supporting the laird quit this morning.”

Makenna stopped in midstride and looked at the woman. Gannon and Doreen didn’t know what to say and remained silent in their chairs.

“None?” Makenna’s voice was barely audible. “What other positions are now vacant, and by how many?”

Gannon prided himself on his ability to remain calm in any situation, manage any problem, and address any person whether a noble or a farmer. Yet right now, answering a simple question had never been harder. “As of this morning, the ladies in waiting, chambermaid, and embroiderer positions have been completely vacated. Totally staffed, their numbers reach nineteen.”

Makenna licked her lips. The news explained much. “Then it is fortunate that we have no guests, nor are there any planned. However, until our chambermaids return, all of us will have to continue cleaning and maintaining our own chambers. I will see to Colin’s and my own.”

Doreen gasped. “No, milady!”

Makenna gave the woman a challenging smile. “It shall be no different from what I have been doing for near a year now, Doreen. Or were you unaware that I, Lady McTiernay, daughter of Alexander Dunstan, wife of your new laird, have not been attended to since the day after my sister passed?”

The blood drained out of Gannon’s face, and he turned to look at Doreen. “Is this true?” His simple question was laced with insinuation and displeasure. Doreen opened and closed her mouth several times before letting her face fall into her hands.

“My deepest apologies, milady. I will do your room.”

Gathering the soft, worn fingers in her own, Makenna leaned over and whispered in her ear, “What I most need is not a chambermaid, but your wisdom and feminine guidance. I am completely at a loss on any of those duties performed in the Pinnacle.”

“Aye, milady, I will help where I can,” Doreen cried, gathering Makenna in her arms, relieved there would be no residual enmity.

Pulling herself free, Makenna wiped a stray tear and said, “Now, then, let us go, and, Gannon, you can begin my long-awaited training on what it means to be Lady of Lochlen.”

Two days later, Makenna stood speechless inside the bake house. It was the same here as it was at every station she had been to. At first, she had thought it was her ignorance. She assumed things could not truly be as inefficient and mismanaged as they appeared. Yet her inquisitive nature would not let her mind rest.

She discovered the truth by accident while meeting Lochlen’s one remaining candle maker. “Are you terribly overworked, chandler?”

He stared at Makenna completely perplexed for several moments before answering. Despite his years of service to the Dunstans, he had only seen Lady Makenna at a distance and not very often at that.

A ruddy-faced man with a gray and brown beard, Amos permanently stooped regardless of whether he sat or stood. He narrowed his eyes at her. “You look like your father,” came his answer. “’Tis good that you do. I like women who have color in their hair and face, reminds me of my sweet Bessie.”

Gannon leaned over and whispered that Bessie was his late wife. Alexander had hired Amos upon her death ten years ago. Makenna squared her shoulders and replied, “Why, thank you, chandler. I have just recently begun to enjoy the features I inherited.”

“Call me Amos.”

“All right, Amos. How do you fare? Are you overworked since you are now alone?”

“Are you here to play a trick on me?”

“No…”

“Then I’m not sure what you’re asking. The others left over a year ago because there is not enough work here for one chandler, let alone three.
That
is why I work alone, milady.”

Makenna could feel her jaw slacken. “But not one candelabra in the castle has a full set of tapers. Most only have one or two.” Turning she looked directly at Doreen. “What about the villagers, do they have candles?”

“Aye, milady, the chandlers that used to work for Lochlen now labor in their cottages making tallow candles. Their wives are most unhappy. The smell and the hours they put in are long and hard.”

“Why are they not making the candles
here?
Gannon says this room was
built
for the craft. I am getting the same impression I did when we were speaking with the hoppers, the weavers, and the spinners. First, I hear the laundresses must wash on one side of the keep and carry the wet items to another to hang because someone didn’t like the unsightly view of the clothes drying. Only time-absorbing tapestries with elaborate designs are to be created, and now there are
too
many candle makers when there are not enough candles? What is going on?”

Gannon shifted and Doreen wrung her hands. Neither spoke.

Amos grunted. “I will tell you, milady. Compared with beeswax candles, tallow candles smell. They do not burn as long, and soot accumulates on the stones and tapestries around them. Your sister hated the odor and the residue, and wanted them out of the keep. Beeswax candles are not harder to make, milady, but finding the beeswax is. It is only because your father was a comparatively wealthy laird that we even had candles lighting Lochlen these two years. Lady Deirdre asked me to stay because I have a trick for smoothing the wax as it’s poured over the rushes so that the candles were all the same width and length. Such things were important to the poor lass.”

Makenna found a seat and sank down on its hard wooden surface.
Poor lass, my foot.
She knew Deirdre could sometimes be self-indulgent, but she was not mean-spirited. Yet Makenna did not doubt the truth of the chandler’s words. There had to be a better explanation that would clarify all of these decisions and demands.

And yet, with each new stop, Makenna heard a similar description of Deirdre’s interference at almost every station at Lochlen. The castle normally employed two bakers, and three during festivals and four when guests arrived. Now only a lead baker and an assistant remained. However, they were both close to quitting. For two years, they worked extraordinary hours to meet their quotas, but what Makenna was shocked to discover—it was so very unnecessary. Deirdre had enjoyed the view walking along the curtain walls above the bake house, but she had not enjoyed the smoke associated with bakery brick ovens. Consequently, she had ordered only one of the three hearths to be used at a time.

Makenna had always believed her beautiful frail older sister to be this great lady of the castle taking over seamlessly when her mother had passed. But, in reality, everyone—or at least those actually running the keep—knew Deirdre was a poor mistress. Her kind nature, whimsical smile, and fragile features had allowed her to perpetuate the illusion of order and peace.

“Fire all the hearths you need to, Dugan. And if you need more help, and know someone willing to work here at Lochlen, hire them. The people need their bread, but you must also be allowed the time to raise your sons. Gannon will see that you have what you need,” Makenna directed, and then turned to leave.

Caught off guard, the round baker stood in bewilderment as the fiery redhead exited. Just days ago, he was confronting a naïve woman who was unaware of how her actions—or lack of them—affected those around her. Though she still had much to learn, he knew that she could, and more important, would. Was it possible the old laird had been correct? Maybe the Highlander and Makenna
were
the right ones to restore the strength and prosperity the clan once knew.

Colin weaved his way through the rocky hills moving as quickly as possible. He personally needed to see the destruction before too much time passed. His men did not have the experience and skill needed to examine such a brutal attack. He could not take the chance they would overlook critical clues that could identify the perpetrators. Even if he did have such men, he might have ridden out anyway to let the families know they had his support.

“You have been quiet,” Drake observed once he and Colin were out of earshot from the rest of the men in their small group.

“I’m always quiet.”

“Aye, you are, but rarely do you brood, Laird.”

Colin briefly glanced at Drake out of the corner of his eye. He had a gift for detecting a man’s disposition. That and his skill with a multitude of weapons made him an excellent commander and a natural trainer of men. “My mind is on discovering the particulars of what we are to encounter. I thought your mind would be occupied on the same.”

Drake heaved a great sigh. “Alas, it is not. My thoughts have been on a sweet lass with golden freckles and hair the color of winter grass.”

“And who is this lucky woman?”

“Her name is Ceridwin. Not only is she bonnie, but she was most understanding when I told her that I might be gone for an unknown amount of time. She made me promise to be careful and she pledged to wait for me. You are looking at a man in love, Laird.”

Colin found Drake’s pleased look irritating. His commander was well known to the ladies and well liked. He never slept alone when he desired company. Dunlop once accused Drake of using tricks to convince women to do his bidding and warm his bed. Drake’s reply had been, “You just have to know how they think. And I do, thank the good Lord, I do.”

It was hard to tell if Drake was truly smitten or having fun. “Be careful, friend. Love can mock even the truest of hearts.” As the words tumbled out, Colin knew he had spoken more than he should have.

“Nay, you cannot mean our Lady Makenna,” Drake countered in disbelief. “I do not think she is capable of that particular crime. The woman confronts, challenges, and argues, aye, but she would not scorn love. At least, not in the way you mean.”

Colin decided to change the subject. “I’m surprised you told your lady love of your intentions.”

Drake shrugged nonchalantly, and again it rankled Colin. “And why should you be surprised? Did you not relay the same to your wife before we departed?”

“I did not,” Colin replied.

Drake let out a low whistle. The crisp manner Colin spoke those three words explained much. Drake sensed he should be quiet and let it be, but his instincts told him to counter the mental reenactment Colin was having of his departure. “I expect, knowing Lady Makenna, that your choice to keep her in the dark was not well received.”

Colin tightened his grip on the reins. “I chose not to encumber my wife with burdens she could take no action to resolve.” Colin paused and then uncharacteristically added further explanation. “I was trying to be kind to her female sensibilities. No woman wishes to hear of gruesome attacks. I chose to spare her that.”

Colin had not spoken Deirdre’s name aloud, but she was in the air. Drake knew Colin had wisely avoided subjects such as war, attacks, and battles concerning his late wife. She had despised such topics. Whenever Colin was away from Lochlen, she had told herself and others that he was out for a long ride or visiting friends. Deirdre was a lovely woman, but her intentional naiveté was one of her more aggravating traits.

Drake cleared his throat and decided to take a risk. “I agree some women do not take well to hearing such reports as were delivered last night. And for
those
women, it is a kind service to hold close information they find distasteful or bothersome. But I am surprised to learn Lady Makenna is one of them. She does not buckle at the sight of blood or at the receipt of ill news. Instead of faltering, her courage rises. It is one of the predominant reasons we Dunstan soldiers love her and enjoy training with her in combat.”

Colin’s face hardened as a ripple of possessiveness coursed through him. He had not known so many men
adored
his wife. “Makenna is indeed a strong woman, but she is still a woman and needs to be protected.”

“From what? The truth? Do you truly believe word has not already spread throughout the village, and that she remains ignorant of the attack? Nay, I would wager our fair lady is completely aware of where we head and why. And while I would not be so presumptuous to speak for Lady Makenna,
my
lady love would be quite hurt and possibly even angry with me if she learned the truth from another’s lips and not my own. Come to think of it, if I knew I had caused Ceridwin such pain, I would probably choose to ride in quiet solace and reflection brooding about how I could make it up to her upon my return.”

“Drake?”

“Aye?”

“You talk too much,” Colin admonished and prompted his horse forward to rejoin the other men.

The attack had been merciless and cruel. This was not a mere thieving raid for cattle or horses. Evidence of deep hatred was everywhere. Fences were irreparable and had to be rebuilt from new. Two families had stables burned with the livestock still in them. One young boy had been seriously injured in an attempt to save his favorite mare. Other families, whose animals were allowed to graze at night, awoke to a nightmare of mutilation. Such acts were unheard of. The
capture
of livestock was the goal of raids, not slaughter.

Whoever did this wanted Colin gone. They also knew he would seek retribution.

“What do you think, Laird?” Drake asked in hushed tones laced with fury. His cheerful disposition had been replaced by one filled with vengeance.

Colin ignored the question and aimed his horse toward the broken portion of the nearby fence. He could feel the animal’s reaction to what was around it. The big black knew murder of its kind had taken place. “Who lives here?”

“Calvin and his wife, Loreen. They have one infant daughter. They used to live near the village, but Calvin wanted more land to farm. Alexander offered him this out here.”

“Their house?”

“Intact. Like the others. The focus appears to be killing the livestock that supported these people’s livelihood.”

“Ensure that Calvin and his wife receive the same as the others and have the men remove the carcasses before the family see their land again.”

“Aye, it will be done,” Drake said wearily. It was hard to see so much willful, cruel inflictions on innocent animals. Colin could do very little to restore these people’s lives. He could give a cow and a horse to help soften their losses, but what he could not do was restore their peace of mind. At least not yet.

Colin halted his huge obsidian mount and swung off its back. Rocks were scattered everywhere. He walked down to a weakened but still intact portion of the fence and forcefully kicked it so that it toppled onto the ground. Then he stood back and gazed intently upon the result. He looked back at the pebbled ground.

Whistling he called his black and remounted. “There’s more here than what we’ve seen, Drake. Search every morsel of this farm. Bring me what you find.”

Several hours later, Colin sat on a makeshift bench composed of a dead log. The fire crackled and lit up the night sky. His men were gathered in silent reflection. Each soldier’s palpable anger fed the man next to him. Last night, there had been much discussion. Angry words about payback had been bandied about casually and often. But then, yesterday, they had only seen a fraction of the horror bestowed upon these quiet farmers.

Colin knew it would take very little to unleash the rage warring in his men. Earlier, they had found very consistent and plentiful evidence of the attacking clan. The Donovans.

For those who knew them, the evidence fit. Donovan land bordered the Dunstan’s eastern hills and stretched far both east and south. Mahon Donovan was a hard, unforgiving man, who had fought and lost men in the battles against Edward I. The Scottish laird was well known to be ruthless in combat, killing all enemies—even their animals—in battle. He disliked visitors and warned trespassers only once to make their travels via another route. He had publicly declined to support Colin and left Lochlen Castle shortly after MacCuaig.

Finding torn bloody pieces of the Donovan plaid hidden between rocks and underneath carcasses was more than enough evidence for his men to convict their eastern neighbor.

Colin was not persuaded. There was too much proof, and all of it was pointing to the wrong person. He would give his clansmen their vengeance, but first, he needed to meet with Mahon, just as the real murderer intended.

“Sean, tomorrow you are to ride back to Lochlen and tell Lady Makenna that we may be several more days. Then join Dunlop on the training fields.”

Colin rose to lay his plaid down somewhat apart from the others and then disappeared into the dark. He needed quiet surroundings to plan how he would approach his quick-tempered neighbor.

Silence fell upon the group as each man watched Colin retreat into the woods. It would be some time before their laird returned.

“Does this mean war?” The question came from Sean, the youngest and most inexperienced of the group.

Drake sighed and straightened his shoulders as he stood to survey the small gathering. “Still to be seen, but we will be seeing Donovan. We’ll know more then.”

Drake left them to assimilate the information and moved to lie down on his plaid and think. Colin had not acted like a laird who had found proof of his prey. In fact, he seemed quietly suspicious. More than once Colin had performed odd and even repulsive acts including ripping some of his own plaid, laying it on the ground, and throwing the head of a dead horse on it. Drake had no idea how Colin intended to approach Donovan, but he doubted it would turn out as the men expected.

A light breeze came with the morning. Sean prepared and left for Lochlen. Colin went to visit Calvin and his wife. He did so alone and returned midmorning. Drake waited for Colin’s order dispatching a soldier to go and return with more men, but the word was not given.

Drake asked the question on everyone’s mind, “Do we ride east?”

“Aye. I want to meet with Mahon by nightfall tomorrow.” Colin’s answer meant they would be riding hard and possibly into the night.

When they stopped, it had been dark for some time and they were well into Donovan territory. Colin had caught more than one sentry make note of their entrance and their direction. Making camp, Colin located almost a half dozen men lurking about the darkness. And those he could not see, he could hear. Mahon had relaxed his training since Edward I died and Robert the Bruce took the Scottish throne. Maybe too much.

Laughter erupted from his men around the campfire. Trying to ease their nerves from what they had seen and the potential fight to come, they concentrated on happier times, moments, and people. Mostly they talked about their wives or loved ones.

When he was younger, Colin often wondered why his older brother Conor kept himself apart, never joining in on the conversation on nights such as this. Now he understood. Men you lead cannot see you as a friend. Friends can be questioned, even overruled. As laird and leader, he could not risk blurring the lines even a little bit. Hesitation, doubt, uncertainty—these were dangerous things on a battlefield. And they were cultivated during times like these.

Colin stood and moved his plaid farther away from the others. The bushes were swaying with semi-concealed onlookers. There would be no walk tonight. Lying down on the soft woolen blanket, Colin put his arm underneath his head and stared up at the stars.

By tomorrow morning, Donovan would receive word of Colin’s impending arrival, but he wouldn’t know why. Colin gambled Mahon’s curiosity would be enough to receive him.

If they left at dawn, it would take nearly the whole day to reach Lonchlilar, the heart of the Donovan clan. Nestled in the northeastern hills adjacent to the cliffs of the North Sea, Lonchlilar Castle was well protected with typical walls, barbicans, and portcullises, but it had a secret weapon against those who were unwelcome. Behind the shadows of the simple valley surrounding it were hidden pockets of cleared land where dozens if not hundreds of men could lie hidden and attack without warning. Colin had never personally visited the stronghold, but he had heard much about it.

Colin switched arms, bracing his head, and tried to keep his thoughts on how tomorrow would enfold. But again they drifted to one person, just as they had every night since he left Lochlen.
Makenna.
He wondered how she was faring, if Brodie and Gorten were keeping her safe, if she was still angry, but most of all, he wondered if she missed him as much as he missed her.

He had not thought it possible to crave a woman the way he ached for her each night. They had been married for nearly three weeks, and for fourteen of those days, she had shared his bed. Each night before retiring, they would discuss both important and minor details of their day and talk about events of the morrow. During which one or both would get mad, argue, or just as often, go into fits of laughter over some odd comment or incident. He did not believe it possible to laugh so much with a woman, but his wife had a way of relating a story that made him feel as if he were right there witnessing or experiencing the humorous event himself. Regardless of how the nights started, they had always ended the same. In shared ecstasy.

Colin rolled over on his side and fingered the empty spot beside him. “I miss you, Makenna McTiernay. God help me, I do,” he whispered.

The next morning, the small group rode across the eastern countryside of the Scottish Border region. They could not see the North Sea, but they could feel its cool humid wind blow over the rocks and grass to greet them. Much less friendly were Donovan’s men. No longer lingering in the shadows, sentries followed the group as they made their way east.

Drake watched Colin carefully ready to respond to his command but detected no concern from his laird. By now it was clear an audience with their neighbor would be allowed. It was yet to be seen if leaving would also be on the agenda. Colin obviously had a plan, but what it was, Drake had not a clue.